America's Dream
by notxherex
Summary: America keeps having the same dream lately, one that always leaves him confused. Tonight the dream will show more than it ever has.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They never have and they never will.

All characters belong to Himaruya Hidekaz

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><p>America kept having the same dream lately, a dream that left him sad and confused, and as he closed his eyes, he felt that tonight would bring no change to his unconscious mind. So he drifted off to sleep knowing of the first thing he would find.<p>

America opened his eyes to find himself in a dark place. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all black. He turned around to further investigate when he caught sight of who he knew was England. It always was. England was turned away as usual, he could be standing up and facing straight ahead or sitting down and facing up as if he could see something fascinating in his black surroundings.

America started to call out to the older nation when a younger him came out from behind him running towards England. He was only a child, happy to see his caretaker but when he got to the Englishman and called out to him, with his innocent voice and the l's changed to w's, he was ignored. His younger self went around to England's side who, this time, was sitting down cross-legged. "Enwand?" But he was still ignored. "Engwand!" He yelled and shook England's knee. The real America recognized this as the point where his dream self would cry and it would be the point where he would wake up from his dream.

Except, this time, it didn't happen.

America wanted to get to them but as soon as he was at arm's reach an invisible form stopped him, something that felt just like a wall. "You know," England's voice resonated from all the walls and all the corners. His voice was everywhere, "maybe I would be happy," America felt his heart throb at the pauses England made, "if I had never met you."  
>America tensed and kept staring at the scene before him. His younger dream self was crying, begging for England to snap out of whatever was bothering him.<p>

Finally, England turned towards the small nation and reached out to wipe his tears. England's face was missing all traces of emotion, not even his eyes betrayed him. Dream America grew from a toddler form into a small child who tried not to cry but failed as a few tears managed to fall from his watery eyes. "England, what's wrong?" England patted his head and dream America grew again. He was wearing the suit that England had given him many years ago. "England." The dream America reached out to put his hands on England's shoulders but England shook his head.

The real America, the one dreaming, felt he knew what was to come next and he desperately wanted to wake up, even if his guess could have been wrong. Both England and dream America stood up and their clothing changed into their military uniforms, the red and blue ones that were so familiar to them both. England and dream America faced each other and England had his back faced towards the real America.  
>"Goodbye England. I will become-"<br>"Independent." England finished for him.

The real America gasped, England had never spoken in his dreams before. Dream America's eyes became wide.  
>"I don't care," England's voice was monotone, his face as expressionless as ever, "do what you want. Just know that I never want to see you again, I never want to be your friend, and I will hate you." He never looked away from America during his revelation, his green eyes always locked with the blue eyes of America.<br>The real America stood shocked, he reached out and was again stopped by the invisible wall. He started to hit the wall, banged on it because all he wanted was to get England's attention so that he could tell him it was all a lie. Because it had to be. Because England could never hate him.

Dream America's eyes narrowed and a gun appeared in his hand, a gun that he raised to aim at England's chest. "Fine." was all that was said. The gun was visibly shaking, both Americas were shaking. The real America screamed as the other pulled the trigger and England was hit through the heart. He fell slowly and just when he was about to hit the ground, complete and utter darkness surrounded the real America. He took a step back. Nothing was visible, not even his hand in front of him. "England!" he yelled. He so desperately wanted to wake up. It was all a dream, he knew that none of it was real. "But I do hate you."  
>America turned, trying to find the source of the voice. "England! Where are you?"<p>

The walls were back. He could see again and in front of him was England looking straight at him, his face still void of emotion like it had been the whole time and there was a hole where his heart should have been. America's eyes widened in horror and he felt nausea hit him. England just watched him with the emotionless and dead looking green eyes of his. America fell to his knees and felt tears running down his face. He pulled at his hair. "Please let me wake up!" He yelled at no one in particular, or maybe he was begging England. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!"

England squatted down to America's level and America looked up at him.  
>"It's a dream, it's not real." America informed the older nation and received a shake of the head in return. "No, this is reality." England watched America's tears leave his eyes. "I hate-"<br>"No!" America screamed not wanting to hear England finish that dreadful sentence.  
>"No!" America quickly sat up, panting as if he had just had to run for his life. England was gone, America realized that he had woken up from the dreadful dream. He turned towards his alarm clock to find out it was only two in the morning. He lied back down and closed his eyes only to be met by the dream England that made him miserable. He felt he could not sleep again. Not until he could hear England assure him that no, he did not hate America. But until then, America hoped for a dream that would full him of hope and made him feel loved by the only one he wanted. Tonight would be another restless night.<p>

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><p>Thank you for reading! Reviews would be nice and are very welcomed!<p>

Do you know that feeling that you like what you're working on (story, art, etc) and then you look over it and think you are the worst ever? Yeah, that would be me right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer is the same as the last chapter.

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><p>Despite the love and care he felt for the younger nation, England had started promising himself that he would learn to hate America.<br>It really wasn't because he wanted to hate America for what he had done. No, it never had been the reason. Because England understood the feeling of wanting to be your own, the feeling of wanting to prove to others that you were strong enough for the world. Yet, he could not explain it himself. All he knew was that he had to feel hate. Sometimes a voice in his dreams would tell him that America did not care for England, so why should England feel anything but hate for his former colony?

Others used to make fun of England for having no friends and this made England wonder how he could have ever gotten so close to another country when he was used to being alone. England had been a great empire after all, he didn't need to show so much care for a mere colony. But that was just it, America hadn't been just an ordinary country to him. He hadn't been someone he could have just used, not entirely anyway. The purpose of having colonies was to have power after all.

The problem was that America had captured England with his kindness. England told himself he would have been fine if America had chosen France in the end, because he was used to being by himself. It wouldn't have brought any difference to his loneliness. He couldn't get any more lonely than he was. He was strong, yes, but that didn't bring him love. It didn't bring him friends. So, he was always prepared to have the small country choosing someone else over him. Not that it didn't hurt. His tears still fell at the thought of losing yet someone else, even before said one had a chance to know him. America had seen the sparkling tears and ran to his side, worried for the man. At that moment, England felt a tug at his heart. He was surprised and, at first, couldn't comprehend that America had chosen him over France. He, who had nothing to give, was now the caretaker of the newfound nation.

England shook his head to get rid of the thoughts of a past he almost wished he could go back to. He remembered it all too clearly. He remembered everything too clearly. The beginning, the few moments they had together when he visited, and the end. He could still recall the shock he felt when America aimed his rifle at him. His insides were cold with a feeling he could not have identified at the moment he had felt it. It all quickly turned to anger and he darted at America, yelling about how he would not allow America to leave. He remembered how he had succeeded at disarming the other, how close he was to victory and keeping America under his wing forever. But, in order to do that he had to hurt him first. England had to shoot America. He started to shake at the very thought. Images of a tiny colony telling him that he loved his England flashed through his head and that was when he knew he had to let him go. England dropped to his knees. He couldn't do it and so he lost. He lost the one person he had ever gotten close to and he felt like he had lost the world. He had been able to sleep that night because of the pure exhaustion he felt both physically and emotionally. He had dreamt of darkness and silence. He hadn't tried to do anything in his dream, nothing but stare ahead of him. It wasn't until years later that he began to hear a voice. A voice that told him how happy America was without him. The voice would ask him why he felt so sad, it would tell him that he had to change in order to be happy. England wouldn't show any type of acknowledgement to the voice with no form but it would never leave. It keep whispering the same things every night, so England always knew what to expect when he went to sleep. It started to not matter if he acknowledged the voice or not because each time England woke up he was more and more convinced that it was for his own good to hate America.

Tonight was another night where was prepared to listen to the voice, he expected no change. He closed his eyes and went off into his dark world.

England opened his eyes to find that he had been right, the black walls were still there like always. "Enwand!" He heard and felt shocked but did not move, not even when he felt tiny hands starting to shake his knee. He still didn't move when he heard sniffles from what he now knew was a very young America. England thought he heard a thud behind him but didn't worry about it; instead, he turned to the small country. America was looking up at him with tear filled eyes, England reached out to wipe them away and the younger grew into an older version of America. England moved from wiping the tears away to patting America's head and America turned older once again.

England could feel that his face showed none of the emotions that his heart felt. He was feeling confusion. He wanted to talk to the America in his dreams, but he couldn't and he didn't know why. America reached out to him and England shook his head not wanting to be touched. He stood up and his red uniform from the revolutionary war appeared on him. America had his blue one on.  
>"Goodbye England. I will become-"<br>"Independent." England interrupted.  
>He already knew what was going to be said. He had already lived through it once. It angered him and made him feel a pang of sadness in his heart. Before he knew what he was doing words started spilling out of his mouth. "I don't care. Do what you want. Just know that I never want to see you again, I never want to be your friend, and I will hate you." England thought he heard banging noises behind him but paid them no mind because at that moment America raised a gun at him and fired.<p>

England felt the bullet hit his heart. It didn't hurt but left him with a feeling of numbness. He didn't care anymore. He thought he would wake up, but instead he felt as if he was floating in an empty void. Suddenly, he was in front of America who was chanting wake up, wake up wake up over and over. Was he telling him to wake up? "It's all a dream, it's not real." America told him. England, once again, could not stop the words coming from his mouth. "No, this is reality. I hate-"

He was caught off by the America's screams of denial. England snapped out of his numbness and felt worry forming in his heart. He wanted to hug America but before he could even act on it, America was gone.  
>England's eyes widened and he felt tears prick his eyes. He couldn't do it. He couldn't hate America. England wrapped his arms around himself and began to cry and yell incoherent things. "I don't want to hate him!"<br>England opened his eyes, he had awoken. He touched his face and felt tears, the dream had been so painful that England still felt the worry and hurt in his heart. He turned towards the clock on the wall and saw that it was three in the morning. He didn't try to go back to sleep, instead, he went to make himself some tea to calm his nerves. While he poured his tea in his favorite mug, he wondered what he could do to make everything better.

Well, if he could make anything better. He still didn't know if it was true that America was happy without him.

He'd have to find out before he made a fool of himself. He didn't want to appear weak and if it came down to it he'd make others believe he really hated the younger nation.

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><p>I tend not to want to continue some stories because I feel like I'll ruin them. OTL<p>

Reviews would be nice and very helpful!

Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

There were times where America believed that he could easily get rid of his sadness by going up to England and asking him what exactly was the he felt for America. He also thought that maybe he could stop caring for England. This thought was implanted in his mind by the voice from his dreams.

America had figured out that he loved England. Since the day that he had chosen England he had felt a sense of caring. Time had only let it grow into love.

He always loved the older nation who had cared for him, even on the day that he had turned his weapon against England. He didn't regret going to war against his former caretaker. His people wanted and needed freedom and after all, it was really a matter of time.

Time seemed to be cruel in all aspects concerning England and himself. Time let his feelings grow and yet it tore them apart. Now time seemed to have England learn to hate him.

It would make sense but America still refused to believe that England would hate him. The voice always disregarded America's hope. "You, his only friend, left him and you think he wouldn't hate you?"

It had gotten worse. The voice now haunted him when he was awake, never letting him forget the reason why he was starting to feel unhappy. Still, the voice didn't bother him as much as it did when he slept. Because, not only would the voice be there, England's hate filled eyes would stare at him.

America had tried to escape sleep by drinking more coffee, but of course the body can only go so long without sleep. His suffering would continue.

He could easily call England and have him come over. There were times where he held the phone and stared at it for hours at a time, believe that that would be the time he'd know the truth. It would be the moment when the torment would end.

He never even dialed the first digit. He didn't want to know if England hated him.

America was sure that if it weren't for the dreams he would have never thought there was even a small chance that being possible.

England was far too kind to hate anyone.

Now that America knew he was basically in love with England, the thought of being rejected scared him to no end.

Could he love England from afar and be happy? Could he possibly never tell England and never ask the Englishman he felt for him?

America still didn't know the answer.

He didn't want to be destined to a one-sided love. He wished he had figured out his love before the dream had affected him and left him fearing the outcome of a confession.

America hated the way he was now, he was supposed to be the hero and here he was fearing hate and rejection. He knew that it was normal to feel like it but he wanted to be strong in order to have England.

The more the thought about it the more he was certain that he would have England, even if it took him years to have the nation feel no ounce of hate for him. America found it ridiculous to think such a thing but he was preparing himself in case he was, in fact, hated.

The dreams and the voice might have been trying to get America to forget England, but he ended up feeling quite the opposite. He wanted to get a hold of England and never let go.

He told himself that he would never leave England again.

"I love you too much." He whispered out loud as he closed his eyes and remembered a smiling England.

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><p>Hello ^^<p>

Thanks so much for the reviews! I do actually think that the first two chapters have been my best work so far!

I know this chapter is super short, I was going to put England's thoughts too but I decided to keep them separated. So the next chapter _might_ be uploaded soon.

I might rewrite this chapter...

Reviews are very welcomed because they sort of help my writer's block.

Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

England was sitting on his couch in the living room, his body limp and his head against the top edge of of his seat. His eyes, which were now a duller green that seemed to show that he was starting to give up on something important, were halfway open and staring up at the ceiling.

"He's happier without me." England voiced his thoughts.

"Who?"

"America."

"Yes, he is."

England gulped.

"And you?"

"I-" England felt a lump in his throat that kept him from speaking and tears start to form, his face still the same and his body as limp as it had been for hours.

"You hate him."  
>England chose to ignore the voice that had taunted him. Each day brought England closer to giving up his hope and believing the voice. He had already acknowledged that America was better off without his grumpy and loathsome self but he seemed unable to hate his former charge.<p>

_It's love._ A small portion of his mind told him and his heart would pound painfully in his chest. He already knew that he loved America. It was the reason it hurt him as much as it did.

England could always feel the tears form when the voice asked what he felt for America.

"You hate him."

"I," He paused. "I don't."

"You do."

England raised his head off the couch. "America has made me angry and he has hurt me but he has never caused me to hate him. He will never make me hate him."

"What if he wants you to hate him?"  
>England chuckled as he stood up and walked over to a picture of America he had taken with him all over the house since the first time he heard the voice outside his dreams. "Not everyone gets what they want."<p>

The voice stayed silent and England went back to the couch to lie down. The constant dreams with the voice left him to choose late nights of doing whatever he could to stay awake. Yes, the voice did bother him now in his waking hours but not constantly like in his dreams. England closed his eyes ready, yet dreading, the voice and a happy America's smile that he knew would never be directed at him.

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><p>I'm really sorry it's so short! I thought of writing more but I kind of like how it is. I don't think I should mess with it. I also wanted to post it sooner but FF wasn't working for me.<p>

Next chapter will most likely be the last chapter.

It **should **consist of both America and England. Maybe they'll talk to each other, maybe something bad will happen. Just wait and see.

Thank you so much for the reviews! It means a lot to me.

By the way, I know you guys thought I would have a good plot with the first chapter but I've been having writer's block pretty bad that I just wrote when my heart felt like it was in the story. Do you know what I mean? Basically, I apologize if it wasn't what you expected. That's if you expected better.


	5. Chapter 5

So I'm guessing you guys know that Hetalia doesn't belong to me.

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><p>America decided that he had wasted time.<br>He figured he should have talked to England when he had realized his love for the nation, if not sooner. He had to go see England lest he waste more time. He had made sure to leave when he wasn't needed in his country, not too much anyway since they always seemed to need him.

America wondered if the whole thing was a bit cliched and could feel his heart skip beats every time he thought of talking to England, of finally confessing his feelings. But the thought of England hating him made his heart painfully throb as well as skip.  
>He would be arriving in England soon, just not as soon as he would like. Sleep was a choice he had in order to pass the time but the thought left him cold in fear, he just wasn't sure of what to expect since the more he thought of never abandoning England again the less he heard the voice.<br>America ended up dozing off before he could think any more on the situation.

Opening his eyes, America found himself in a beautiful open field, the sky above him was a bright blue with few clouds in its vastness. He took a deep breath and felt more relaxed then he had felt in months. His surroundings gave him a sense of peace.  
>America heard the grass moving behind him and he turned to find a child watching him with curiosity.<p>

"England?" He asked with disbelief lacing his voice.

The child kept silent, his eyes showed fading determination and an emotion that could only be identified as loneliness. America took a step closer, he wondered why the child had such sad eyes, he thought of himself when he was a child and knew that he hadn't had eyes that portrayed a life of suffering. He had had England, he had felt loved. That's not to say that he didn't get lonely every now and then when his caretaker couldn't be around but that loneliness was not so extreme that it made his eyes look as if they were crying out for love, just like the eyes of the child were now. America took a step closer to the child and the child took fidgeted as if he was thinking of running away.

"I won't hurt you." America said not wanting the child to flee and believe the worst of him.

The child looked pained as if he wanted to believe the stranger but couldn't. America walked closer, still pondering just what exactly had happened to the child in the past, what exactly had happened to England. Imagining a sad and lonely adult England hurt America. He crouched down to the child's height and opened his arms, inviting the little one to hug him.  
>"It's okay." America assured the child but it seemed that there was no need for it for the child looked touched and hugged the American.<p>

The child snuggled into America's chest and cried.  
>America could only smile and hug the small nation. Not long after the child began to grow, America looked down to find England in his present form, England pulled back just far enough to look up and give America a grateful and loving smile, a smile that made America's heart flutter like crazy.<br>He smiled back.

America awoke to find that the plane was about to land, he felt giddy. The dream had brought him confidence and he knew that nothing could go wrong.

A couple of hours later found America in front of England's home, he tried the doorknob deciding that there was no need to knock and wait any longer. Just mere seconds could ruin his opportunity to convince England out of hating him, that is if he did hate him.

To his surprise the door was unlocked. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it.

"England?" He called out and heard shuffling in the living room. He walked down the hallway, his heart was pounding loudly and he was glad that there was no way the Englishman could ever hear it.

America found England on the couch with his legs drawn to his chest. He had had his head on his knees but looked up when the American showed up in the living room.

"America?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed from the confusion he was feeling. Hadn't the voice told him the young nation was happy without him and would never need to see him again?  
>Then again, that had been days ago. The voice had disappeared just like it had come, it was all out of nowhere.<p>

England had definitely felt better when he no longer had to listen to the voice try to convincing him of something that broke his heart but it had left him all alone to think over what it had told him and what England wanted to be true. He wished for America and now his wish had come true. He had to be careful, what if America came over just to mock him and tell him how unneeded he was?

Either way, he would try to show no sadness.

England got off the couch and walked up to America and, unbeknownst to him, the American could clearly see the loneliness and turmoil in England's eyes. Likewise, England felt he could see something wrong with America when he got close enough to look past the glare on the glasses the taller nation wore.

"Are you okay?" they both ended up asking at the same time.

England was shocked at America's question but figured he couldn't be able to hide his emotions, it shouldn't surprise him that America could read him like an open book. America felt his heart throb and his lips form a frown, he could not take it any longer so he reacted to his feelings. The older nation felt himself being enveloped in a crushing embrace.

"Don't hate me." America begged. "I need you to stay with me because you make me happy," He paused and nuzzled into England's neck,"you always have."

England didn't hesitate in believing America. Despite months of trying, England knew that the voice had failed at making him hate his beloved. Nothing and no one could ever get rid of his love for the American especially not now that he knew that his feelings were mutual. He wrapped his own arms around America, enjoying the warmth of the hug.

"America," England replied calmly, thankful that his voice was not betraying the strong emotions his heart was feeling. "What gave you the idea that I hated you? I could never hate you, not even if you wanted me too."

America's eyes widened. The voice was wrong, it had been wrong! America had never felt so happy. His eyes glistened with unshed yet happy tears. He tightened his grip on the man he loved.  
>"I'll never let you go, England. Never again."<p>

England pulled back and put both his hands on America's cheeks, gently pulling him down in order to kiss the younger nation on the forehead. There was an understanding of love and devotion between them. They finally had each other and they both heard the voice come back for one last message.

_"You will be happy."_

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><p>And it's done!<p>

I'd really like to know what you thought of this last chapter if not the whole story.

I hope that I did not fail your expectations, I had to go back and read the other chapters in order to finish this one and goodness guys I usually hate my own work but I do believe this might be my best so far.

Have a nice day/night!


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